


Across the Universe

by GuixonLove



Category: Across the Universe (2007), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Across the Universe Fusion, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Historical, Eventual Happy Ending, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7462974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuixonLove/pseuds/GuixonLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After travelling to America to see his estranged father, Sherlock Holmes meets someone who changes his life for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've Just Seen a Face

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the absolutely fantastic chucksauce221. Thank you so much for helping make sense of this fic and making it the best it could be!
> 
> Kudos and Comments are very much appreciated!
> 
> Now with artwork by [Stitchy](http://stitchyarts.tumblr.com/post/105048839287/some-meetcute-art-set-in-ashley-guixonloves)!

_I’ve just seen a face_   
_I can’t forget the time or place_   
_Where we just met_   
_She’s just the girl for me_   
_And I want all the world to see we’ve met_

_Had it been another day_   
_I might have looked the other way_   
_And I’d have never been aware_   
_But as it is, I’ll dream of her tonight_

_I have never known_   
_The like of this, I’ve been alone_   
_And I have missed things_   
_And kept out of sight_   
_But other girls were never quite like this_

 

**Princeton University; Princeton, NJ 1967**

Sherlock Holmes stepped out of the car that he had hitched a ride in from and mumbled a thanks to the driver before shutting the door. He’d been lucky to find someone willing to take him from the marina all the way here, especially as it was just after dinner and the man was happy to tell him about the family waiting back home. He dropped his knapsack beside his feet and looked around at the campus stretching in front of him.

_‘So this is where dear old dad ended up,’_ he thought to himself as he looked around, watching the students make their way around the sprawling campus, headed to their next class or socializing on the steps leading up to the school.

He knelt down and pulled a bundle of letters out of his bag before hitching it back onto his shoulders. He glanced down at the sheets of paper in his hand and let out a heavy sigh. He’d found them when he had come home from university for summer break a few months ago, while snooping through his mother’s old belongings in the attic out of boredom. They were unopened letters from from his father, addressed to him, and sent the first few years after the divorce. One letter explained why things had ended between his father and his mother. Another talked about the American university where his father found work, and discussed the students and teachers he encountered who were, as his father adequately put it, “bloody idiots who wouldn’t know common sense if it came up and slapped them in the face.” He also wrote about the subjects he taught, as well as researching extracurricular subjects that interested him-- he believed that one could never be too knowledgeable about a variety of subjects.

With each letter Sherlock read, he felt he had found a kindred spirit in his father, who was obviously an extremely brilliant man. All his life, he grew up thinking that no one understood him, and that his father hated him; now he knew differently. He wondered why his mother had never told him about these letters, or anything about his father or brother. When he tried to bring it up that night at dinner, she looked away and quickly changed the subject. So, he dropped it, but a few weeks ago, he came up with the idea to leave London and find them himself.

Sherlock was so engrossed with the letters and his thoughts he didn’t see the figure stopped in front of him and ran into him, sending books and papers flying.

Sherlock’s victim cursed under his breath, shaking his head and wiping at his face as he knelt to pick his books up off of the ground. He lifted his head to say something truly scathing, but froze when he laid eyes on Sherlock.

“Sorry about that,” Sherlock said as he bent down to pick up his stack of letters before the wind could blow them away. He noticed a crumpled envelope on the ground and managed to catch a glance at the names of the sender and sendee on the front before the boy snatched it up.

“It’s… It’s fine,” the boy mumbled, quickly looking away as he stood up. As he started to walk away, Sherlock looked down at the letters in his hand and back up at the retreating figure of the boy.

“Wait,” he called out.

The boy stopped and looked back at him with a confused expression. He waited as Sherlock jogged towards him, shifting his books in his arms so he could pointedly look down at his watch before glancing back up at Sherlock expectantly.

“Do you know where I can find Professor Siger Holmes?” Sherlock asked.

The boy frowned, his brow furrowed in confusion. “The only Professor Holmes we have here is Professor Mycroft Holmes,” he replied before pointing at the building behind Sherlock. “He’s in that building in room 290.” With that, the boy turned and walked away.

Sherlock watched him go for a few seconds before turning to look behind him: Doyle Hall: Humanities Building. He straightened his shoulders and walked over to the ivy covered building John had pointed at, making his way up the stairs that led inside.

Sherlock wandered down the teeming corridor, narrowly avoiding students as they ducked in and out of classrooms and milled about in the wide hallway. He walked a little further and found room 290 at the end of the hall, with a polished wooden nameplate mounted beside it. M. Holmes. Sherlock took a deep breath and knocked.

“Enter,” a posh voice on the other side of the door replied.  
  
Sherlock turned the knob and slowly opened the door. A man sat behind a large desk that held only a small lamp and a pile of papers. There were no family photos or personal items of any kind in the room.

The man looked up at Sherlock when he came in and raised an eyebrow. “May I help you?”

“Mycroft?” Sherlock asked as he walked further into the room, shutting the door behind him. “It’s me, Sherlock.”

Mycroft’s face paled slightly. “Sherlock, what are you doing here?” Mycroft asked as he stood and circled his desk. “Does Mother know that you’re here?”

“Of course,” Sherlock lied smoothly before looking around the office. “Where’s Father? I had expected to find him here, not you.”

A stunned expression crossed Mycroft’s face, quickly replaced by one of calm detachment. “No one told you?”

“Told me what?” Sherlock asked as he crossed his arms in frustration, beginning to wonder if his brother was always this irritating.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before he motioned at a chair.

“Why don’t you have a seat?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his older brother, not moving from his spot in the middle of the room. “I’d rather stand,” he snapped. “What is going on, Mycroft? Just tell me.”

“Father passed away a few years ago,” Mycroft replied evenly.

Sherlock gaped at Mycroft in shock, his hands balled up into tight fists at his side. “What? How?”.

“Lung cancer,” Mycroft answered. “I made certain the lawyers sent Mother a letter and a copy of Father’s will, explaining this and what was left for you.”

Sherlock felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He vaguely remembered coming home from school one afternoon and his mother handing him a piece of paper that said his father had sent him some money in an account that he would be able to access when he turned 25. He had asked what it was for, but his mother shrugged and said it must have been his father’s way of making up for all of the birthdays his father had forgotten. Sherlock felt sick knowing that Mother had lied to him and kept the truth from him for years.

“I…,” Sherlock started but stopped when his voice cracked with emotion. He could feel the tears coming and he would die before he cried in front of anyone. “I have to go,” Sherlock said before he turned and ran out of the room. Mycroft called out, telling him to come back but he kept running.He busted through the heavy doors that led to the outside and ran across the quad, stopping next to a huge oak tree, gasping for breath. He punched the tree trunk hard several times before flinging his bag onto the ground and dropping down next to it. He ran a hand through his curls, tugging at them as he grit his teeth.

He should have known that it would be a mistake coming here to meet the family that hadn’t bothered stayed in touch with him over the years. The lack of correspondence from them, especially after his father had died, should have been a sign.

“Are you alright?” a voice from beside him asked. Sherlock looked up to find the boy from earlier standing over him, brow creased with concern. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” Sherlock looked down at his hand and saw that his knuckles were indeed oozing blood. “I didn’t even feel that.” He stared down at the broken skin and felt eyes watching him. When he looked back up, the boy held his hand out to him.

“Come on, I have a first aid kit back at my dorm. Let’s get you fixed up.”

Sherlock glanced at the hand outstretched towards him before looking back up at the boy in confusion.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

The boy shrugged in response. “Perhaps I feel bad for being so short with you earlier.”

“Understandable” he said, looking down at his injured hand. You had just received a letter from home that contained bad news, so you took it out on the nearest person.” He took a breath before he risked looking back up.

The boy stared at him, his mouth agape. “How did you know that?”

Sherlock smirked. “I didn’t know. I saw. When I picked up my belongings after I ran into you, I noticed you had dropped an envelope on the ground. The envelope was crumpled, like you had wadded up in your fist after you opened it and read the contents. You wouldn’t do that if it was just a casual letter, so it contained bad news. You kept the letter instead of throwing it out, not to mention that the sender had the same last name as the sendee, so the letter must have been from a close family member. Obvious."

Sherlock looked down at his hands and braced himself for the string of insults that usually followed his deductions.

"That...was amazing."

Sherlock's head shot up. "Really?"

"You seriously got all of that just from looking at an envelope?" The boy’s eyes were wide with awe. When Sherlock nodded, he shook his head and smiled. "That was brilliant!"

"That's not what most people say."

“And what do people usually say?”

“Piss off,” Sherlock replied.

The boy shook his head and smiled kindly at Sherlock. “Well, those people sound like idiots.” He held his hand out towards Sherlock once more. “Now, come on. Let me bandage up your hand.”

Sherlock stared at him in silence for a few seconds before he accepted the boy’s hand and let himself be pulled up.

“I’m John. John Watson,” the boy said, still hanging onto Sherlock’s hand. The feel of John’s warm hand in his was pleasant.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he replied curtly, quickly letting go of John’s hand and looking away. He wasn’t used to people willing to help him so this whole experience was entirely foreign to him.

John motioned for him to follow as he started walking. Sherlock bent down and picked up his bag and hurried after John, falling into step beside him as they made their way across the campus towards the dorms..

“Nice to meet you, Sherlock. Going by your accent, I’d say you were from England or something.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Excellent deduction, John.I can see that the American school system has done an excellent job of teaching you how to state the obvious.”

“At least I know how to watch where I’m going while I’m walking,” John replied dryly as he stopped in front of a red brick building, smirking at Sherlock as he held the door open for him.

Sherlock stepped inside and followed John through a door into a spacious room that had a couch and a couple of armchairs, as well as a pool table in the corner. Two guys sat on the couch, good-naturedly ribbing one another. They looked up when Sherlock and John entered.

“Hey, Watson! Where have you been?” a stout boy with glasses asked. “Bill here thought that maybe Three Counties Watson had decided to make an appearance and you were blowing us off tonight.”

Sherlock glanced over at John curiously and noticed a faint blush appearing on his cheeks.

“No, I actually ran into Sherlock outside and saw that he needed some medical attention,” John said quickly, trying to change the subject as he walked over to a cupboard and began to rummage through it. “Sherlock, this is Mike Stamford and Bill Murray. Guys, this is Sherlock Holmes.”  
  
The lanky boy named Bill stared openly at Sherlock, his eyes wide with fear and awe. “Wait, are you related to Professor Holmes?”.

“I ask myself the same thing,” Sherlock muttered under his breath, setting his knapsack onto the floor by the sofa. Before Bill could question Sherlock further, John let out a small cry of triumph as he pulled out a small box from the very back of the cupboard.

“Let’s go in here and patch you up,” John said to Sherlock and pointed to a door off to the right that led to a bathroom.

“Don’t take too long in there, we had made plans to go to Speedy’s to have a few beers and watch the game,” Mike called after them as John herded Sherlock into the bathroom.

Sherlock could hear Bill and Mike talking and laughing before John shut the door, effectively muffling the sound. He watched in silence as John opened the first aid kit and began digging through it. John pulled out a small brown bottle and some gauze, setting them on the counter, and turned towards Sherlock.

“Alright, let me see your hand,” John said, reaching for Sherlock’s injured hand and gently tugging him over to the sink. He picked up the brown bottle and poured a small amount of the liquid over the broken skin.

“Careful!” Sherlock hissed in pain and tried to pull his hand away but John tightened his grip.  
  
“Sorry,” he said, meeting Sherlock’s eyes and smiling gently. “The good news is that the worst part is over. I just have to bandage this up and you’ll be good to go.” Sherlock slowly began to relax as the stinging lessened and John began to wrap a bandage around his hand. “So, what exactly did you do to hurt your hand? Did you punch a brick wall?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock snorted. “It was a tree trunk.”

John rolled his eyes good-naturedly and playfully smacked his forehead. “Oh, of course! Punching a tree trunk is much less ridiculous than punching a brick wall. What was I thinking?” John met Sherlock’s eyes and they both started laughing.

“You’re good at this,” Sherlock murmured while he watched John work after their laughter died down. “You obviously have a lot of experience with bandaging people’s injuries.”

A faraway look came across John’s face while he continued to wrap Sherlock’s hand. “You have no idea,” he said quietly as he finished up. “There! You should be all set, though I wouldn’t recommend punching any more tree trunks.”

“I’ll try my best,” Sherlock replied, a faint smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

John chuckled before he turned and began to clean up after himself. “Did you have any plans for tonight?” He quickly put items back into the first aid kit.

Sherlock frowned as he looked down at his hands. “No. I don’t even know if I’ll have a place to stay tonight,” he mumbled, playing with a loose thread on his pant leg. “This whole trip wasn’t exactly planned or thought out very well.”

John stood in thoughtful silence for a minute before he shut the first aid kit and turned to Sherlock. “You can stay here with me tonight, if you want. You can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch,” John offered.

Sherlock’s eyes flew up and met John’s in surprise. “You’d really let some stranger stay with you?” Sherlock asked in disbelief. “You’re not worried that I’m a psychopath who will kill you in your sleep?”

John just shrugged. “Nah, I like to think that I’m a pretty good judge of character and you just don’t strike me as a murderous psychopath.” He shot Sherlock a wide grin which was quickly returned. “So, what do you say I buy you a drink and you can tell me the story behind you punching a tree trunk?”

“Okay, but only if you explain the meaning behind the nickname, ‘Three Counties Watson’.” Sherlock said as he headed for the door and opened it. He shot a glance over his shoulder and saw that John’s face had become quite flushed. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” John replied, shaking his head and brushing past Sherlock and out of the bathroom. “Speedy’s isn’t far from campus, so I hope you don’t mind walking.”

Sherlock stared at John curiously, a feeling of warmth spreading from his chest throughout his entire body. He pushed the feeling aside to scrutinize later and followed John out of the bathroom. John had to be one of the most fascinating people he had ever met, and Sherlock hoped to find out more about him.


	2. With a Little Help From My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John go out and get to know one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, beta'd by chucksauce221
> 
> Kudos and Comments appreciated!

_(Do you need anybody?)_   
_I need somebody to love_   
_(Could it be anybody?)_   
_I want somebody to love_

_(Would you believe in a love at first sight?)_   
_Yes I'm certain that it happens all the time_   
_(What do you see when you turn out the light?)_   
_I can't tell you, but I know it's mine_   
_Oh I get by with a little help from my friends_

 

John and Sherlock spent the walk to Speedy’s in comfortable silence as they made their way off campus and towards town. All of the shop windows were decorated for Christmas and there was a giant tree decorated and lit up in the center of town. John held open the door to a cozy looking pub whose scattered tables were filled with college students. A couple of girls giggled and waved at John as they passed. John returned their smiles and grabbed a hold of Sherlock’s arm, pulling him to the back of the bar where Mike and Bill sat. Bill and Mike made room for John and Sherlock of them as they pulled their coats off and slid into the booth. An elderly woman walked up to the table, holding a tray of drinks.

“Hello John! The usual for you?” she asked, beaming at John as she set a couple of glasses down on the table in front of Bill and Mike.

John smiled and nodded.“That sounds great, Mrs. Hudson.” He clapped a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “And whatever Sherlock wants. Put it on my tab.”

Mrs. Hudson smiled down at Sherlock.“What will it be, dear?”

Sherlock tore his gaze away from the hand on his shoulder up to Mrs. Hudson. “Whatever John is having is fine. Thank you,” he mumbled, pasting a smile on his face at the last minute so he wouldn’t seem rude.

“Be right back with those.”

Bill took a big gulp from his glass and looked at Sherlock. “Not a drinker either?” He belched and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and tried to keep the disgust from showing on his face.

“I think we’ve only seen John drink a handful of times since we’ve known him, Isn’t that right, Mike?”

Mike hummed in agreement, his eyes following a girl in a tight sweater who walked by and headed for the jukebox set up in the back.

Sherlock glanced over at John, who tensed up, his hands clenched into tight fists under the table.

“Uh, no. I guess I never saw the appeal of lowering my inhibitions and acting like a fool in public like you two,” Sherlock replied.

John snorted, his shoulders shaking as he laughed silently while Mike and Bill glared at Sherlock. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson chose that moment to walk back up to the table carrying two glasses of something fizzy.

“Here you go dears, two pops, extra ice,” she said as she set the glasses down in front of John and Sherlock. She straightened and wiped her hands on her apron. “Can I get you boys anything else?” When all four shook their heads, she walked away to check on her other tables.

Mike and Bill waved at a group of girls who had just walked into the bar before they slid out of the booth and grabbed their drinks.

“We’re going to go sit with Sarah and her friends. We’ll see you back at the house,” Bill said distractedly, his gaze not drifting from the table of pretty co-eds. Without waiting for a response, he and Mike walked to a table in the back.

John watched silently, waiting until they were gone before he turned to Sherlock.

“Thanks for what you did before,” he said sincerely as he picked up his glass and took a sip. “You have no idea how old the teasing gets.”

“So, who in your family has the drinking problem?” Sherlock asked.

John froze, his glass halfway up to his lips as he stared at Sherlock. He placed his glass down on the table. “Wh- what? Who said anything about that?”

Sherlock just shrugged and picked up a napkin off of the table and began to tear it. “No one said anything. When Mike mentioned alcohol, your body language suggested that you are uncomfortable with partaking and avoid it when you can. When you do drink, it’s usually due to high stress or perhaps for celebrating something extremely important. This behavior is common among people with an alcoholic relative, but in your case, I’m thinking it’s one or both of your parents.”

Sherlock mentally kicked himself for having opened his mouth and waited for John to tell him off. He snuck a look over and saw a slight smile tugging at the corner of John’s lips.

“That was amazing,” John replied.

Sherlock frowned and picked at the bandage on his hand. “That’s not what most people would have said.”

“Well, I guess I’m not most people,” John said, picking up his glass again and smiling at Sherlock.

A warm feeling settled in Sherlock’s chest as his heart started to beat faster. He shook his head and took a sip of his drink, doing his best to ignore the fluttering in his stomach.

“To answer your question from before, it’s my sister,” John said a few minutes later. Sherlock looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue, but John changed the subject. “So, are you going to tell me why you thought punching a tree trunk was a good idea?”

Sherlock sighed heavily and ran his fingers through the condensation that was formed on his glass. “I suppose I was quite upset that my father had died of cancer a few years ago and no one bothered to tell me he was sick, let alone that he had died,” Sherlock said bitterly.

 

John laid a light hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, squeezing gently, his face soft with concern.

“I’m sorry you had to find out that way,” he replied, his blue eyes looked darker in the dim light of the bar. “I guess this means you won’t be going to your brother’s house for Christmas dinner, huh?”

Sherlock laughed. “No. I’d rather eat my own shoes than spend any more time with him.”John glanced down at his hands before he looked back up at Sherlock. “Would you like to come home with me for Christmas?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in surprise.

“It’s nothing fancy and my family will probably drive you nuts but it would be nice to have a friend there.”

Sherlock blinked in confusion, his mind racing. “You- You consider me to be a friend?” he asked timidly. The word felt foreign to him.

John smiled. “I know we just met today but... I don’t know. I can’t explain it.” John tried to explain. He met Sherlock’s eyes again, his face serious. “Do you believe things happen for a reason?”

Sherlock frowned. “You mean like fate?” When John nodded he tilted his head tilted in confusion  
“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”

John stared at him for a minute before he shook his head and smiled apologetically. “Sorry, it was a stupid idea anyway,” he mumbled as he looked down at the worn wood of the table.

“No, it wasn’t,” Sherlock interjected, his stomach twisted into knots, afraid that he’d chased away the only person who had put up with him for this long. When John’s eyes snapped up and met his, Sherlock took a deep breath and continued. “It’s just that nobody has ever invited me anywhere, let alone hung around me for an extended amount of time.” Sherlock glanced down at the table and picked at the bandage on his hand again.

“If the offer still stands, I would like to go with you to see your family,” he said quietly.

“Great!” John exclaimed. “This will make the drive home more tolerable.”  
His smile was bright enough that Sherlock couldn’t help but grin in return.

John picked up his glass again and took a sip before setting it back down on the table and rested his chin in his hand. “So, tell me all about London! I’ve always wanted to visit there.”

Sherlock told John all about the city he had grown up in all of his life, finding that he could talk to John for hours and never be bored, something he had never known could happen. Eventually Mrs. Hudson walked over and dropped their check off on the table. John dug his wallet out of his pocket and pulled a couple of wrinkled bills out. He counted them and tossed them onto the table before grabbing his coat.

“We should head back since we have to get up pretty early to drive back to my parent’s house tomorrow,” John explained apologetically as they stood up. “I hope you don’t mind.”

 

The night was so cold they didn’t waste time getting back to the dorm. They dashed up the stairs and shuffled through the front door. As they were pulling off their coats, Sherlock nearly bumped into John when he came to a sudden stop in the doorway. He looked over John’s shoulder and noticed that Mike and Bill were passed out on the sofa in the living room of the living quarters. John looked up at Sherlock, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Ever heard of the shaving cream prank?” he asked quietly. Sherlock shook his head, which made John smile even wider. “Come on, consider this your introduction to dorm life here in America.”

 

He grabbed Sherlock by the arm and pulled him into the bathroom, where he rummaged through the cabinets. He thrust a can of shaving cream into Sherlock’s hand and snuck back into the living room with Sherlock silently following behind. John pulled a feather from a nearby pillow and motioned for Sherlock to come kneel next to him behind the couch.

“Okay, spray the shaving cream onto their hands,” John instructed in a low voice.

Sherlock’s heart beat wildly as they crept quietly around the couch. He sprayed a small mound of airy cream onto Mike’s palm, then Bill’s. After he was done, John slid forward and tickled Mike’s nose with the feather. Sherlock had to bite his lip to keep from laughing when Mike rubbed his nose, smearing the shaving cream all over his face, Amazingly Mike didn’t wake up. John grinned and grazed the feather over Bill’s forehead and about fell over when Bill stirred and smacked himself on the head.

“Damn it, John! I’m gonna kick your ass!” Bill roared as he sat up. He picked up the closest thing which happened to be an empty beer can and tossed it in the direction of John’s head.

“Run!” John whispered as he grabbed Sherlock’s hand and dragged him into the bedroom. They could hear Bill cursing up a storm. John slammed the door behind them and twisted the lock into place. They leaned back against the door, panting, and glanced at each other briefly before they burst out laughing.

“Welcome to America,” John said between giggles, which made them both laugh even harder.

Right there, in that moment, Sherlock knew he found a kindred spirit in John Watson and he never wanted to let him go.


	3. Helter Skelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes home with John for Christmas break when tragedy strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by chucksauce221

_When I get to the bottom_   
_I go back to the top of the slide_   
_When I stop and I turn and I go for a ride_   
_And I get to the bottom and I see you again_   
_Yeah, yeah, yeah_

_Well, do you, don’t you want me to make you_   
_I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you_   
_Well tell me, tell me, tell me the answer_   
_You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer_

_Oh no,_   
_Helter skelter_   
_Helter skelter_   
_Helter skelter_

 

Sherlock stared out of the window, watching the scenery fly by as John drove down the road. After their successful prank the night before, they had spent the rest of the night talking about everything they could think of before falling asleep in John's small bed.

Sherlock frowned as he recalled all the things he revealed to John the night before. Things he would never have considered telling anyone and yet the words just spilled out of his mouth. He laid awake for hours after John fell asleep, trying to figure out why he confessed things to this boy he just met.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock was pulled from his thoughts when John tapped him on the arm and he realized he had been speaking to him. He shook his head and looked over at John who was concentrating on the road ahead of them.

"Sorry, what was the question?" he asked.

John glanced over at him, a patient smile on his face. "I said we'll be there in about an hour and asked if you needed me to stop for anything." His eyes darted from the windshield over to Sherlock.

"Uh, no. No, I'm okay," Sherlock said, as he ran his hands through his messy curls and stared at the road ahead of them. He snuck a glance over at John, their eyes meeting briefly before John cleared his throat and looked away.

"So...," John began, his fingers tapping along with the song softly playing on the radio. "Does your family do anything special for Christmas?"

Sherlock frowned and looked down at his lap. "Not really." Sherlock picked at an invisible string on his pant leg. "Mother usually worked extra hours the weeks leading up to it just so we could afford to have a nice dinner. I always told her that I didn’t need gifts, but she sometimes surprised me with art supplies or manuscript paper.”

“Manuscript paper?” John asked, his eyes drifting over to Sherlock. “You compose music, too?” Sherlock raised his eyes to look out the window again.

“When my father left, he left behind his violin. I found it one day while I was snooping around and begged my mother for lessons,” Sherlock explained, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the memory. “She hired a girl to come over on the weekends to teach me, but after just one lesson, she quit and refused to come back, so I ended up teaching myself how to play.”

John snorted. “Just one lesson with you and she quit? You must have been a horrible student!”

“Or it may have been because I had deduced that she was moonlighting as an exotic dancer at night to help pay the rent for a flat with her lover who was cheating on her with the landlord,” Sherlock replied. He slowly glanced over at John and when their eyes met, they burst into laughter.

“Oh my God,” John said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Life is never boring with you, is it?”

Sherlock chuckled as he sat up straighter in his seat. “No, I suppose it’s not.”

“Good,” John replied. “I hate boring.”

Sherlock looked over in surprise and saw a genuine smile on John’s face. He looked away and stared out the window again, the warm feeling returning to his chest and stomach as he replayed their conversation in his head. He wasn’t sure what this feeling was, but he was pretty positive that he could get used to it.

About an hour later, John pulled into the driveway of a modest, two-story house and parked behind a dark blue station wagon.

“Welcome to the Watson’s humble home,” John said with a grin.

Sherlock unbuckled his seatbelt while his eyes drifted over the house, taking in every detail, from the faded yellow paint to the dormant rose bushes surrounding the porch.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay here?” Sherlock asked, suddenly nervous that his presence wouldn’t be welcome.

John shook his head and smiled at Sherlock.

“I’m positive,” John replied, patting Sherlock on the back reassuringly. “My parents have been so worried that I didn’t have any friends at all that they are going to be thrilled I brought one home.”

“I’ve never had friends,” Sherlock said softly, dropping his gaze down to his lap. A smaller hand covered his and he looked up and met John’s eyes.

“You have one now,” John said with a smile.

Sherlock couldn't help but to return John's smile, the look settling the nervousness in his stomach. They climb out of the car and grab their bags from the backseat before making their way up the porch steps to the front door. Before John could put his key into the lock, the door swung open to reveal a young woman, the spitting image of John.

"Hey there, Johnny! The prodigal son returns," she exclaimed, her words dripping with sarcasm and slightly slurred, as she leaned against the doorframe and looked from John to Sherlock. "And who's this? Your boyfriend?"

"Harry, this is Sherlock," John said, ignoring Harry's comment. "Are you going to let us in? It's freezing out here."

"Of course, baby brother. We can't have you freeze to death. Who would mom and dad spoil and fawn over?" Harry said snidely, stepping aside to let John and Sherlock inside.

"Does mom know that you've been drinking?" John asked as he set his bags down on the floor and slipped his coat off. Harry glared at John and folded her arms over her chest.

"So I had a couple glasses of wine, big deal," she spat. "I had a rough morning, listening to mom and dad go on and on about how proud they were of you for going off to school and making something of yourself before asking me why I couldn't be more like you."

"That's not the only reason," Sherlock muttered under his breath. John and Harry stopped glowering at each other and stared at Sherlock in surprise.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, shooting a venomous look at John. "What the hell has John told you?"

"He didn't tell me anything. I merely observed," Sherlock replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and staring at a spot on the floor.

"And what, exactly, did you observe?" she sneered. Sherlock snuck a glance over at John and saw he was staring at him expectantly. He took a deep breath and looked back at Harry and let his deductions fall from his lips.

"Your eyes and nose are red as if you’ve just gotten through crying and you have bags underneath your eyes meaning you haven’t been sleeping well. The jumper you're wearing is way too small for you. If you had bought the wrong size, you would have taken it back and gotten the correct size. But the fact that you're wearing it and that you keep discreetly trying to smell it means that the sweater belonged to someone else, namely an ex lover who left you not too long ago. If I had to guess, I would say it was because of the drinking. The breakup made you continue to drink, this time, to forget and to numb the pain."

Sherlock finished speaking and looked up at Harry and John. Their mouths hung open with similar looks of shock on their faces as they stared at Sherlock. Before anyone could say anything, an older woman, wearing an apron and drying her hands with a dish towel, walked into the hallway.

"Harriet! Why didn't you tell me your brother arrived?" she admonished as she walked over and pulled John into a tight embrace. Harry rolled her eyes and glared at Sherlock.

"I'll be in my room if anyone needs me," she snapped before turning and stomping up the stairs.

Mrs. Watson and John flinched when they heard Harry's door slam shut. She shook her head as she looked over and noticed Sherlock.

"Who's this, Johnny?" she asked with a kind smile. "You didn't tell me you were going to be bringing a friend home."

John flushed slightly and put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Mum, this is Sherlock. He didn't have anywhere to go for Christmas so I invited him home with me."

"You have a lovely home, Mrs. Watson," Sherlock said as he shook her hand. "I hope I'm not intruding by being here."

"Of course not," she exclaimed. "You're more than welcome here."

"Where's dad?" John asked, looking over her shoulder into the living room.

"He's next door helping Mrs. Turner fix her broken radiator and should be back soon," she said, looking at her watch. "I have to go check on dinner. Sherlock, make yourself at home. I'll come get you boys when it's ready."

Mrs. Watson walked away, leaving Sherlock and John alone in the hallway. John looked at Sherlock, an odd look on his face.

"That stuff you said about Harry, you got all that just from looking at her?" John asked. Sherlock nodded and looked down at the floor, inwardly cursing his big mouth and waiting for John to yell or punch him or even kick him out of the house.

"That was amazing!" Sherlock's head shot up and he looked at John, completely thrown off guard by the compliment.

"You really think so?" he asked nervously. John nodded.

"Yeah! I mean, I don’t think Harry appreciated it, but it was impressive how you got all of that with one look. Maybe one day you can teach me how to observe things like you," John said with a smile. He picked up his bags off of the floor and nodded at the stairs. "Did you want to hang out in my room until dinner? I still want to take a look at those sketches you were telling me about last night."

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The next couple of days passed by in a blur. John had taken to show Sherlock around the town he grew up in and introducing him to people he’d gone to school with. On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, the two of them ended up at a place John called his ‘thinking spot’. It was a group of rundown and abandoned buildings by a small river. They sat on a ledge, looking out over the water in comfortable silence. The wind whipped around them, blowing their hair all over the place and turning their cheeks pink.

“The first time I came here was when Harry first started drinking,” John blurted out. Sherlock looked over at John in surprise. John briefly met his gaze before looking back out at the water.

“She had just graduated high school and had gone out with some friends the night before. She came home, completely wasted, and started in on how I was mom and dad’s favorite and how much she resented me for that.” John took a deep breath and glanced down at his hands in his lap.

Sherlock wasn’t sure how to react to this confession. He had never found himself in this position before and wished he knew how to make John feel better.

“I ran away from home that day, ended up getting lost and found myself here. I sat down in this very spot and just felt all my worries melt away.” John got a distant look in his eyes as he stared at the water.

Sherlock’s eyes drifted over to an old, charred crate laying on the ground. He reached over and pulled off a piece of the burnt wood before getting to his feet. He walked over to one of the empty buildings and used the wood in his hand as a charcoal pencil and began to sketch, his hand moving rapidly as he worked.

"Is that-- me?" John asked, coming up behind him. Sherlock nodded and kept sketching. He glanced over and saw John staring at the drawing, his head slightly tilted as he watched Sherlock work.

“Come here,” Sherlock said suddenly, not taking his eyes off of the sketch as he motioned at John to step closer. John raised an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. Sherlock rolled his eyes and glanced over at him.

“Please? I want to make sure I get your eyes right.”

John’s eyes widened in surprise and stepped forward. Time seemed to stop as they stared at each other. The only sound Sherlock heard was his own pulse pounding in his ears. John licked his lips and Sherlock’s eyes dropped down, following the movement. Sherlock’s feet seemed to move of their own free will and he found himself stepping closer to John.

“Hey! You two, get out of here! You’re trespassing and defacing city property!” a burly, baton-waving security guard shouted from a window above them, yanking them from their trance.

“What are you talking about?” John yelled up at the guard. Sherlock looked over at John, who grinned and winked at him. “This is a work of art and I think it adds a special something to this boring old building,”

“Don’t make me come down there!”

Sherlock smirked. “I don’t know. I’d hate for you to ruin your perfectly pressed uniform,” he shouted up at him.

The man’s head disappeared and John quickly grabbed his hand, pulling him along.

“Shit! Run, Sherlock!”

They ran until their lungs burned in the cold, winter air and found a hiding spot under an old bridge, stifling their laughs as the guard ran right by them, huffing and puffing from exertion. John leaned against the wall and looked over at Sherlock.

"That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done," he said breathlessly.

Sherlock walked over and stood beside John, smiling at him.

"And putting shaving cream on your housemates while they're sleeping isn't considered to be ridiculous?"

John grinned at Sherlock, his blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Hey! That wasn't just me," he exclaimed and bumped Sherlock with his hip. "I must be a bad influence on you."

"I don't mind," Sherlock said, pretending to read some graffiti on the wall. He looked over at John from the corner of his eye and saw a strange expression briefly come across his face. Sherlock shivered and put his coat collar up to shield himself from the icy wind when he felt a warm weight on his arm. He looked down and saw John's hand holding onto him.

"Come on, let's head back to my house and warm up," John said as he gently pulled Sherlock along, keeping his hand in the crook of Sherlock's arm. They walked in silence for a few minutes before John spoke again. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do since that whole thing with finding your dad didn’t pan out?”

Sherlock frowned and looked down at his shoes. “I don’t know. Mycroft doesn’t really want anything to do with me so I guess I ought to go back to London.”

“Oh,” John said sadly.

Sherlock looked over at him, surprised at that reaction. “What did you think I was going to do?”

John shrugged and avoided Sherlock’s eyes. “I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d stay.”

“Would you like me to stay?” he asked as they made their way up the driveway of John’s house.

John stopped walking and turned until he and Sherlock were face to face, his hand still holding onto Sherlock’s arm

“Of course I want you to stay,” he admitted. “We’ve only known each other for almost a week and I feel like I’ve known you all my life. It’s like we were destined to meet.”

Sherlock’s heart began to race and his stomach felt like it was tied in knots. He opened his mouth to reply, when John’s neighbor, Mrs. Turner, burst out of her house and ran towards them.

“John! You need to get to the hospital right away,” she cried. John froze and let go of Sherlock’s arm.

“Why? What happened?” he asked, trying to remain calm.

“It’s Harriet,” she said tearfully. “Not long after you left this morning, your parents had found her in her room, unconscious and barely breathing. They called an ambulance and rushed her to the hospital. They told me to tell you to meet them there when you got home.”

“God damn it, Harry,” John swore and dug for his keys out of his pocket, headed for his car. He quickly unlocked it and climbed in, and glanced at Sherlock who was standing in the driveway with his hands shoved into his coat pockets, looking at him uncertainly.

“Are you coming?” he asked as he started the car.

“Did you want me to?” Sherlock asked hesitantly.

John looked away and stared out of the windshield for a couple of seconds before he nodded. Sherlock jogged over and had barely shut the door when John started backing out of the driveway.

“Be careful boys,” Mrs. Turner called out to them, waving before she ran back into her house.

The ride to the hospital was silent as John sped down the road, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. He swung into the parking lot and parked the car. They jumped out of the car and ran into the hospital, coats and scarves flying behind them. John made his way up the the nurse at the front desk.

“I’m looking for Harriet Watson,” he snapped, slamming his hands onto the desk.

She glared at John before looking at a sheet of paper in front of her. “She’s in room 270,” she answered icily and pointed down the hall.

John took off running in the direction she indicated with Sherlock on his heels, before coming to a stop in front of room 270. He took a deep breath and slowly walked inside. Harry was lying in bed, hooked up to several different machines. His parents were sitting by her bedside and turned around when John walked into the room.

“Oh, Johnny,” his mother cried as she stood up and pulled John into her arms.

“What happened?” John asked.

His father looked grim and glanced over in Sherlock’s direction. “Could you give us a minute?” Mr. Watson asked.

Sherlock nodded and stepped back out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

He headed back down the hall and found a small waiting area that was completely empty. He took a seat in one of the hard chairs and pulled his scarf off, looking around the room. There were a handful of chairs lined up against the walls along with a couple of side tables scattered in between that held old magazines and newspapers. The walls were a dull beige and sparsely decorated with paintings of landscapes.

Sherlock sat back in his chair and rested his head against the wall as his eyes slid shut. His entire body buzzed with adrenaline and he thought he was going to jump out of his skin. He took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face. He had a song he had been composing in his head the last few days and began to hum it softly, losing himself in the music.

“What’s that you’re humming?”

Sherlock’s eyes flew open and he saw John standing in front of him, looking down at him curiously.

“Oh, um, it’s just something I’ve been working on,” he mumbled as he sat up straight in his chair.

“This is turning out to be a horrible Christmas Eve,” John said with a grimace and sat down next to Sherlock. He looked over at him apologetically. “Sorry to drag you into all of this.”

“It’s okay,” Sherlock said, playing with the edge of his scarf. “How’s Harry?”

John groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She had alcohol poisoning. If my mom hadn’t gone in to check on her this morning, she would have died.” He carded his hands through his hair and pulled on the blond strands in frustration before continuing.

“Mom and Dad were told it might be a good idea for Harry to go into rehab, but with me in school, they can’t afford to send her anywhere decent,” John let out a shuddery breath and looked over at Sherlock. “So, I told them that I’d drop out of school and they can use the money that would have paid for my next semester to pay for Harry to get the help that she needs.”

Sherlock stared at John, completely flabberghasted. “You-- You’re dropping out? What did your parents have to say about that?”

“They tried to talk me out of it, but I told them that Harry needs help and if this is the only way, then so be it. Her health is more important than my education.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Sherlock cleared his throat and looked over at John.

“What are you going to do now since you’re not going back to Princeton?” he asked quietly.

“The rehab center they’re sending her to is in New York. I have some money saved up from my summer job so I was thinking I’d move up there so I could keep an eye on her,” John replied, looking at Sherlock from the corner of his eye. “If you want, you could come with me.”

Sherlock blinked and stared at John blankly. “You want me to move with you up to New York?”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t want you to feel like you have to. If you want to go back to London, then that’s fine too. It’s all fine, whatever you decide,” John babbled.

Sherlock bit his lip and weighed his options. He could go back home to his lonely life in London where he was pretty much despised by everyone, or he could stay with the one person who befriended him and accepted him the way that he was.

He looked over at John and gave him a small smile. “When do we leave?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Twitter and Tumblr as GuixonLove87


	4. I Want You/She's So Heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John make the move up to New York City and make new friends. Meanwhile, Sherlock makes a startling discovery about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the fabulous Bel!
> 
> Now with art by the amazingly talented [willietheplaidjacket](http://willietheplaidjacket.tumblr.com/post/114882229022/sherlock-stood-up-quietly-and-walked-over-to-the)

_I want you_  
_I want you so bad_

_I want you_  
_I want you so bad_

_It's driving me mad_  
_It's driving me mad_

 

 

“Did you want to come with me to visit Harry?” John asked the next morning after breakfast as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. John’s parents had already left for the hospital before Sherlock and John had awoken, leaving a note for them saying that they would be back later that afternoon, so they sat together at the kitchen table, eating in comfortable silence and occasionally sneaking glances at one another.

Sherlock turned away from the window and met John’s expectant gaze. “I don’t think my presence would be needed or even wanted,” Sherlock replied, remembering that Harry wasn’t that fond of him after he had spouted off his deductions to her when they first met. He thought he saw a disappointed expression come over John’s face, but it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared.

“Oh. Well, I won’t be gone long,” John said, pulling his coat on. He headed for the door and paused with his hand hovering above the doorknob for a few seconds before he turned and looked back at Sherlock.

“When I get back, did you want to drive up to New York with me? Help me find an apartment for us to move into?”

Sherlock nodded, a hint of a smile tugged on the corners of his lips. “Of course. Can’t have you having all the fun up there.”

John chuckled, the sound warming Sherlock’s insides. With a wave, John left, leaving Sherlock sitting alone in the empty house. He turned back and stared out the window, silently wondering what John Watson was doing to him and why he liked it so much.

An hour later, John stormed into his bedroom, his face red and his eyes puffy and bloodshot. Sherlock looked up from the chemistry textbook he had taken from John’s bookbag, and frowned.

“What happened?” he asked cautiously, though he already had an idea what had made John so upset.

“Nothing,” John replied curtly as he stalked over to his closet and began pulling suitcases out, tossing them onto the bed. Sherlock pursed his lips and shut the book in his hands, watching silently as John yanked open drawers, pulling clothes out and throwing them into the suitcases.

“Your parents tried to talk you out of dropping out of school again, didn’t they?”

John paused and slowly lifted his head, staring at Sherlock briefly before he nodded and looked away.

“When I told them last night about leaving school so Harry could get the help she needs, they thought it was a joke and were stunned when I brought it up again. Once I told them that I was dead serious, they started panicking and trying to talk me out of it. At one point, my father said that I shouldn’t have to throw my future away because of Harry’s mistakes.”

John laughed mirthlessly as he started to shove clothes into one of the suitcases. Sherlock sat completely still as he listened to John rant. “As you can imagine, Harry didn’t take too kindly to that and kicked both him and our mother out of the room before she proceeded to break down and cry and apologize for being a horrible sister.”

“When she finally calmed down, she told me that she knew someone who lived up in New York City, a friend of an ex or something, and that they were renting out a couple of spare rooms in her apartment for cheap and gave me their phone number. ”

John reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Sherlock carefully unfolded himself from the chair he had been sitting in and strode over to where John was standing. He reached out and took the paper from John, sparks shooting up his arm when John’s fingers accidentally brushed against his wrist.

“I had called from a payphone at a gas station near the hospital and got all of the information,” John explained as Sherlock read over the details. “I told the landlady, Molly Hooper, that we were interested in the spare rooms and would be there to check out the apartment this afternoon.” John paused and looked over at Sherlock tentatively. “That is, if you’re still wanting to go with me.”

Sherlock looked up and met John’s eyes, feeling himself being pulled into the dark blue depths of his only friend's expressive gaze. He knew that he should just climb on a boat and go back home to London, but something inside of him knew that he would regret it and urged him to stay.

He took a deep breath before smiling at John. "Count me in," he said. Sherlock let out a soft grunt of surprise when John suddenly threw his arms around him and hugged him tightly. Tentatively, he placed his hands on John's back and closed his eyes, allowing himself to commit everything to memory about this moment: the smell of John's shampoo, how John's muscles felt under his hands and how perfectly they seemed to fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle. He took all of the data he gathered and locked it away in his mind.

After a few moments, John reluctantly pulled away and smiled once more at Sherlock before continuing to pack his bags. Sherlock stood frozen in place watching him, his skin still tingling from where John had touched him. He then came to the slow realization that at some point, he had fallen hard for John Watson, a thought was equally terrifying and fascinating.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The drive up to New York City had been quiet, the only sound in the car was the radio softly playing Christmas music. A few times, Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it when he realized he didn’t know what he wanted to say. Instead he stared out the window and watched the scenery as it whizzed by.

Once John drove into the city, he handed Sherlock a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. Sherlock glanced at the paper in his hands before looking over at John.

“What’s this?”

“It’s the directions to Molly’s apartment building,” John replied, coming to a stop behind a bright yellow cab. “Read those and tell me where I need to go.”

After getting lost for thirty minutes and almost driving down a one-way street, John finally parked the car in a lot beside a small building. The two of them climbed out and stood next to each other as they looked at the graffiti-covered brick apartment that would hopefully be their new home.

“Our future neighbors look...interesting,” Sherlock commented as he studied a man and woman sitting on the front steps in front of the building. They were both wearing ratty clothes and smoking something pungent, passing it back and forth between each other, while the man casually strummed the guitar in his hands.

John smiled and grabbed Sherlock’s hand, pulling him towards the entrance. “I’m sure they’ll grow on you,” he said as they walked inside. They climbed up five flights of stairs before coming to a stop in front of apartment 520.

John reached out and briskly knocked on the door. He was pulling off his gloves when he looked over at Sherlock and saw him bent over and breathing heavily.

“You all right there?” he asked with a cheeky grin, patting Sherlock’s back sympathetically.

“There’s no way I’m living here,” Sherlock muttered, glaring at the stairs they just walked up. He straightened up and looked over at John sourly. “You can just forget it.”

John rolled his eyes and squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder good-naturedly. “Let’s at least check out the apartment first since we already walked all the way up here.” He then smiled and leaned over until his lips were right by Sherlock’s ear, making his skin buzz with energy at the closeness.

“If we do decide to live here, I’ll carry you up the stairs if you absolutely can’t handle walking up them on your own,” he whispered, winking at him. Sherlock turned bright red at the image of John carrying him and looked at the floor to calm himself down as the door to the apartment opened, revealing a timid looking woman.

“Can I help you?” she asked curiously, glancing between Sherlock and John.

“Molly Hooper? I’m John Watson and this is my friend, Sherlock,” John explained, shoving his gloves into his coat pocket before holding a hand out to her. “We talked on the phone earlier about your spare bedrooms.”

Molly’s face lit up with realization and she smiled brightly at them. “Oh my gosh! John! Of course,” she said elatedly as she shook John’s hand eagerly. “Come in!”

Sherlock and John walked inside and followed Molly into the living room where a man sat on the couch with his boot covered feet propped up on the coffee table, playing a guitar.

“Greg? We have company,” Molly announced as she picked up a couple of empty beer bottles off of the coffee table and pushed Greg’s feet onto the floor, looking over at John and Sherlock apologetically.

“Sorry the apartment is such a mess. I just didn’t have time to clean up since we just got back from rehearsal,” she mumbled before taking the bottles into the kitchen and walking back into the living room.

Sherlock glanced around at the mostly uncluttered apartment and snorted at the so-called mess. “If you think this is messy, wait until John gets settled in. He’s a bit of a slob.”

“I am not that bad,” John retorted before he playfully elbowed Sherlock in the side. He smiled over at Molly and Greg. “Rehearsal, huh? Are you two in a band or something?”

“Yeah, it’s us and a couple of friends of Greg’s. We usually play down at Bart’s Bar, a couple of blocks away,” Molly smiled as she ran a hand through Greg’s hair. “Come on. Let me show you guys the rest of the apartment.”

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A few hours later, John walked back into the apartment, soaking wet and freezing cold from the sudden downpour that started right as he was grabbing the last box of his belongings from the trunk. With chattering teeth, he started to walk back towards his bedroom, his arms full of boxes, when his eyes land on Sherlock, sitting on the sofa sketching without a care in the world.

With a scowl, John stomped into his bedroom, setting the boxes down and dug around until he found the warmest sweater that he owned and a dry pair of jeans. He quickly changed out of his cold, wet clothes, hanging them up in the bathroom to dry and grabbed a towel before he walked into the living room. He ran the towel through his wet hair before he sat down next to Sherlock.

“I didn’t need any help with that or anything,” he muttered rhetorically to himself as he placed the towel on the arm of the sofa and closed his eyes. From the kitchen, he could hear Molly and Greg talking quietly in the kitchen.

Sherlock smirked but didn’t look up from his sketchbook, his pencil moving rapidly over the page as he worked. “You didn’t ask.”

“Yes, I did,” John retorted. “Several times.”

Sherlock’s hand stilled, his pencil hovered over the paper. He lifted his head and glanced at John, his brows knitted in confusion. “Did you?”

John opened his eyes and looked over at him. “You really didn’t hear me?”

Sherlock shook his head causing a couple of curls to fall across his forehead. John stared at him for a couple of beats before clearing his throat and looking hastily away.

“No worries. It’s my own fault for bringing so much stuff.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply when they both heard a loud thump and a muttered curse coming from the bathroom. John looked over at Sherlock, his eyes wide.

“You heard that too, right?”

Sherlock nodded, laying his sketchbook and pencil on the coffee table in front of him. They both looked over when a young woman walked out of the bathroom, holding her sore head. She paused when she saw them staring at her curiously.

“Hello,” John said as he stood up from the couch. “Who are you?”

The girl looked sheepish and stared down at the puddle forming beneath her feet. “I’m Janine,” she said quietly.

John smiled and picked up the towel he had been using before and handed it to Janine. “I’m John and this is Sherlock,” he told her, motioning towards the sofa. Sherlock watched their interaction in silence, deductions about who Janine was and where she came from, buzzed in his mind.

“So, where are you from?” Sherlock snapped out of his reverie when he heard John ask Janine the very question he was trying to deduce himself.

“I, um, I was living across the street with this guy,” she mumbled as she gratefully accepted the towel from John, who frowned when he saw the black eye she sported.

“Did he do that to you?”

Janine nodded. “He was a mistake.”

Molly and Greg walked out of the kitchen at this point, headed to their bedroom, and paused when they saw the newest houseguest.

“Where’d she come from?” Molly asked worriedly, grabbing the quilt off the back of one of the chairs and putting it over Janine’s shoulders.

“She came in through the bathroom window,” Sherlock replied, not missing the look of longing that came across Janine’s face as Molly began to fret over her.

“Oh, you poor thing! Come on, let’s get you into some dry clothes,” Molly said as she lead Janine out of the room towards her bedroom, leaving the three of them standing in the living room staring after them.

“What just happened?” Greg asked aloud, scratching his head. Sherlock shrugged before picking his sketchbook and pencil back up and sitting down next to John on the sofa.

“I would think that we found ourselves a new roommate,” he replied, sneaking glances at John from the corner of his eyes.

 

After hearing about Janine's troubled life when she was living across the street, Molly insisted that Janine move in with them, just like Sherlock had predicted.

"Where are we going to fit everyone, Molls?" Greg asked that evening as he pulled a bottle of beer out of the fridge. He leaned against the counter, popping the lid off before taking a swig and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "John and Sherlock just rented the two extra rooms."

“I don’t want to cause a fuss,” Janine said. “I can sleep on the sofa until I find a place of my own.”

“Nonsense,” Molly said. “We’ll think of something!”

"John and I can share a room," Sherlock supplied in a bored tone, not looking up from his sketchbook. Everyone looked over at Sherlock in surprise.

"We can?" John asked, recovering from his shock first.

"We've shared a room before," Sherlock answered evenly, looking up at John. “Have you developed an aversion to it in the last couple of days?”

John looked down at his hands sheepishly. “No, I just thought you’d want a room of your own, that’s all.”

“See? Problem solved!” Molly exclaimed, clapping her hands in glee. She looked over at Janine and smiled. “What do you say Greg and I help you move your stuff over now before we leave for our gig tonight?”

“Sounds great,” Janine said with a smile, gazing at Molly a few beats too long before quickly looking away.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Are you sure?” Janine asked John later that night as she watched him move the last of his belongings from one room to the other. “I really don’t mind crashing on the sofa.”

John sat the last box down on the floor and put his hands on Janine’s shoulders. “It’s completely fine. I wouldn’t feel right making you sleep on the sofa,” he said with a smile. “Besides, you need a room of your own if you’re going to be living here, too.”

Janine glanced at the single bed in the room and looked back at John coyly. “You two planning on sharing a bed?”

“What? No!” John yelped, the tips of his ears turning pink. “No, as I’ve come to find out, Sherlock rarely sleeps and when he does, it’s usually during the day.”

“I see,” she replied, not entirely convinced. A thought occurred to her and she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out her question. “So, is it true what Molly and Greg say about him? That he can tell you things about yourself just by looking at you?”

John was about to respond when Sherlock walked into the room behind them. He stared at both John and Janine briefly before moving around them and picking up his sketchbook off of the bed.

“If you two are done talking about me, I’d like to get some work done,” he said disinterestedly. John started to lead Janine out of the room when Sherlock spoke up again.

“Not you, John. I work better when you’re in the room with me.”

Janine smirked knowingly at John and waltzed out of the room, leaving John standing in the doorway in stunned silence.

“I didn’t think you even noticed if I was in the room with you,” John said quietly as he moved further into the room and sat on the bed next to Sherlock. “You tend to ignore me when I try to talk to you while you’re drawing.”

“Of course I notice,” Sherlock replied, looking at John from the corner of his eye. “Your presence is absolutely vital to my work. Who else is going to force me to eat or sleep?”

“Oh,” John murmured, his cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as he looked down at his hands. After a few seconds, he shook his head and got up from the bed to begin unpacking his belongings

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A few days later, John had gone out job hunting, leaving Sherlock alone in their room to take advantage of the solitude. He knelt down beside the bed and pulled his sketchbook out from it’s hiding place from underneath the mattress. He ran his fingers over the cover before standing and walking over to the desk set up in the corner of the room.

He sat down and began to work on the latest drawing, his mind going quiet as he moved the pencil over the paper. He was so entranced in his work that he didn’t hear the bedroom door being pushed open.

“Hey there, Sherl!”

Sherlock groaned when Janine bounded into his room and flopped onto his bed. He turned around in his desk chair and glared at her.

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” he said as he watched her pick up the chemistry book he had been reading the night before off of the nightstand and began flipping through it. She simply shrugged and grinned at him, her brown eyes bright with glee.

“You did. I just chose to ignore said request,” she replied cheekily, winking at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back around to continue drawing, hoping that if he ignored her, she would take the hint and leave.

“What are you drawing?” Janine asked a few seconds later, tossing the book aside as she jumped up and wandered over to the desk where Sherlock was sitting. Sherlock tried to close the sketchbook, but Janine was faster and snatched it out of his hands. His face heated up as Janine thumbed through the book, her eyes widened slightly with each turn of a page, revealing various drawings of John: John laughing, John reading, John and Greg sitting at the kitchen table having a lively discussion, John asleep on the sofa.

Janine looked up from the sketchbook, a sympathetic smile on her face. “You like him, don’t you?”

“He’s my friend, of course I like him,” Sherlock snapped, snatching the book out of Janine’s hands. Janine just shook her head, her long black hair swishing with the movement.

“No. I mean you like him,” she said, putting more emphasis on the words. She tilted her head slightly as she looked at Sherlock. “As in you have feelings for him that are much stronger than friendship.”

Sherlock glanced down at the worn wood of his desk before shaking his head. "It doesn't matter," he said quietly.

"Why?"

Sherlock sighed and ran both hands through his hair, pulling the dark curls in frustration.

"John would never feel the same way about me," he replied, pushing his chair back and walking over to his bed and sitting on the edge. Janine strode over and sat down next to him.

"Have you tried talking to him about it?" She asked, bumping him with her shoulder. "You never know until you ask."

"I should say the same thing to you," Sherlock said, glancing over at Janine from the corner of his eye. Her body stiffened and she opened and closed her mouth a few times, her cheeks tinted a bright shade of pink, before she seemed to recover from her shock.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said finally, looking down at her hands, trying to feign ignorance.

"I think you do," Sherlock replied, turning and looking at Janine. "You haven't been very discreet about your feelings for our lovely landlady from the night you crawled in through our bathroom window the other night."

"It's not the same thing," Janine said, meeting Sherlock's eyes. "Molly is very happy with Greg and therefore will never feel the same way. You, on the other hand, still have a chance with John."

“What are you going on about?” Sherlock asked, staring at Janine in confusion.

Janine sighed dramatically and lay back on the bed, stretching her long limbs. “I’ve caught him staring at you when he thinks no one is looking at him. And don’t even get me started on the way he’s constantly taking care of you, making sure you eat and sleep enough,” she replied nonchalantly, studying the chipped nail polish on her fingernails. “It’s sweet, really.”

 

Sherlock glanced at her briefly before looking back towards his desk, letting her words sink in. How could he have missed something as big as that? Maybe she was right and he should say something to John. When has anything ever stopped him from saying what was on his mind before.

Sherlock was pulled from his thoughts when a pillow collided with his head, causing him to fall forward off of the bed onto the floor. He sat up and saw Janine, clutching her sides as she doubled over in laughter.

“Was that necessary?” he grumbled, glaring at her.

“I was bored, Sherl,” she said by way of an explanation, a wide playful grin stretched across her face. “It was very necessary.”

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I do this then.” Sherlock picked up the pillow that had landed on the floor next to him and threw it back at Janine. She ducked and grabbed another pillow off of the bed to block the next shot, laughing hysterically.

“We really need to work on your aim there, Sherl.”

“Stop calling me that,” Sherlock snapped, his pale cheeks turned a light shade of pink. With a huff, he stomped back over to the desk and threw himself down in the chair with his arms crossed across his chest.

“Don’t pout, Sherl,” Janine said as she walked over and playfully threw an arm around his shoulders. “It’s very unbecoming on you.”

Sherlock shot Janine a glare which makes her grin even wider. They both turned when they heard a throat being cleared and saw John standing in the doorway staring at them, his hands clenched at his sides.

“Molly was looking for you,” he said, looking directly at Janine. “Something about needing help finding an outfit to wear to the show tonight.”

Janine smiled demurely at John as she walked past him towards the door. She paused in the doorway and turned, looking at Sherlock from over John’s shoulder, mouthing “Talk to him,” before strolling out of the room.

Sherlock watched John stand in the middle of the room, looking everywhere but at him. He tilted his head in confusion.

“Are you okay, John? How did the job search go?”

“Hmm? Oh, it was fine. I have an interview tomorrow morning,” John replied distractedly as he walked over and sat down on the bed. Sherlock stared at him for a few moments before he turned back around and picked his pencil back up. He had just flipped to a clean sheet of paper in his sketchbook, when John started talking to him again.

“You and Janine seem to be getting close,” John said, his tone clipped. “Should I move back into my old room and let you two have this room to yourselves?”

Sherlock turned and shot John an exasperated look. “Don’t be an idiot, John.”

They stared at each other for what felt like minutes before John cleared his throat and looked away, a faint blush slowly spreading up his neck to his face. “Were you wanting to go watch Molly and Greg perform tonight?” John asked, trying to change the subject.

“I hadn’t planned on it,” Sherlock replied as he stared at John curiously for a few seconds more before he turned back around and stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of him. “Were you?”

“I probably shouldn’t, since I have to get up early in the morning,” John replied, settling back on the bed, trying to get comfortable. “Guess it’s just you and me tonight.”

Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully as he tried to come up with a response. “You wouldn’t rather go out and spend time with people who are way more sociable than me?”

“Of course not,” John replied. “I enjoy spending time with you.”

Sherlock’s eyes closed as hope began to grow inside his chest. Janine’s words crept into his head, repeating over and over, that he needed to take a chance and tell John about his feelings.

He opened his eyes and smiled nervously as he decided to throw caution to the wind and tell John how he felt. His smile faded however when he turned around and saw that John was curled up on his side, fast asleep.

Sherlock stood up quietly and walked over to the bed. He carefully pulled the covers up and covered John with them. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and gently brushed the hair from John’s forehead, savoring the feel of the soft blond strands under his fingers.

John let out a soft sigh in his sleep, unconsciously leaning into Sherlock’s touch as he ran his fingers through John’s hair. He froze when he saw John stirring, his heart pounding in his chest as he tries to come up with an excuse as to why he was caressing John’s hair while he was sleeping.

“Sherlock,” John mumbled, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “S’nice,” he murmured before he rolled over, facing away from Sherlock as he slipped into a deep sleep.

Sherlock pulled his shaking hand back and moved away from the sleeping form of his only friend. He sat back down at his desk and ran his hands through his hair, taking a couple of deep breaths as he tried to get his racing heart to slow.

He laid his head down on the desk as he slowly came to the realization that he loved John Watson and those feelings were going to drive him mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Twitter and Tumblr as GuixonLove87


	5. If I Fell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise between Sherlock and John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Bel!
> 
> Now with art by the lovely [joanacchi](http://joanacchi.tumblr.com/post/142250351385/commission-for-guixonlove-for-her-fanfiction)

_If I give my heart to you,_  
_I must be sure from the very start_  
_That you would love me more than her._

_If I trust in you,_  
_Oh please, don't run and hide._  
_If I love you too,_  
_Oh please, don't hurt my pride like her_

_Cause I couldn't stand the pain._  
_And I, would be sad if our new love was in vain,_  
_So I hope you see,_  
_That I would love to love you._

 

The following weeks were long and tortuous for Sherlock, ever since John had gotten a job as a busboy for the twenty-four hour diner not far from their apartment, working long shifts several days a week. Lately, the only time Sherlock saw John was when he was coming home late at night and crawling into bed to sleep, only to get up early the next morning to do it all over again. A few times, Sherlock had been tempted to come clean about his feelings to John but each time, he panicked and kept his thoughts to himself.

One chilly night, Sherlock decided to tell John how he felt. He had been standing in front of the open window of their bedroom for an hour, chain smoking cigarettes and mentally going over his confession in his head, when he saw a car pull into a parking spot. A few seconds later, both John and a pretty blonde climbed out of it.

“Thanks for giving me a ride home, Sarah. I’ll hopefully have my own car fixed by the end of the week,” John said, giving the girl a kind smile as he reached into his pocket for his apartment keys. Sarah giggled flirtatiously as she walked around the car and wrapped an arm around John’s waist, pulling him close.

“You’re very welcome. It’s not every night I get to take a cute guy home,” she purred, leaning in and brushing her lips against his cheek. “Aren’t you going to invite me up?”

Sherlock angrily stubbed his cigarette out and turned away from the window, not wanting to see anymore. He walked out of the bedroom he shared with John and made his way across the hall to Janine’s room, knocking briskly. She opened the door with a curious smile.

“What’s up, Sherl?”

“Can I stay in here tonight?” Sherlock asked, pushing past Janine and walking into her room without waiting for her response. Janine raised an eyebrow as she closed her door and turned to face Sherlock.

“And what’s wrong with your room?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest and leaning against the door.

Sherlock glared at Janine as he folded himself into the armchair in the corner of the room. “John is bringing a girl up,” he spat, wrapping his arms around himself and sulking. “I’d rather not be around for whatever they’re planning on doing in there.”

“Oh, Sherl. Are you sure?” Janine asked, walking over and sitting on the edge of her bed.

Sherlock sullenly nodded. “I saw them from our bedroom window,” he muttered. “They looked pretty close to me.”

"So, why are you in here? Why aren't you out there telling John how you feel?"Janine asked, studying Sherlock intently before a smirk slowly spread across her face. "Oh my God! You're trying to make him jealous, aren't you?"

Before Sherlock could respond, there was a knock on Janine's bedroom door.

“Janine? Have you seen Sherlock anywhere?” John’s voice asked from the other side of the door.

She glanced over at Sherlock who simply shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself, sulking silently. He felt sick at the idea of lying to John, but he felt it was his only option. It was better than having to face John and Sarah, at least that's what he told himself.

“He’s in here with me,” Janine called back, her voice coming out slightly breathless. “Why? Did you need something?”

There’s a long pause before John responded. “N-No, I guess not. Good night.”

Janine waited a few seconds, making sure John was gone before picking up one of her pillows and throwing it at Sherlock's head. "And just what was that about? Just go out there and tell him how you feel!"

“What’s the point? John would never want to be with someone like me,” Sherlock muttered as he tossed the pillow onto the floor and turned his head to stare out the window. His stomach felt like it was being tied into knots and no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the feeling just grew stronger.

Janine folded her arms across her chest and gave Sherlock a withering glare. “If you won’t tell him, I will.”

Sherlock whipped his head around and stared at Janine, his eyes narrowed. “No you won’t,” he said finally before looking away again. “Just go to bed. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Janine stared at Sherlock for a beat before shaking her head and climbing into bed. “Good night, Sherl,” she said quietly before turning out the light. Sherlock stared out the window and waited until Janine’s breath grew slow and even before he stood up and walked out of her room to go sleep on the sofa.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next afternoon, Janine cornered Sherlock while he was sitting in the kitchen, angrily sketching a bowl of fruit sitting in the middle of the table in front of him.

"Would you just go talk to him, Sherl?" Janine asked as she sat down at the table next to him. Sherlock didn't look up from his sketchbook before replying.

"Not interested, now go away."

"I'm not taking no for an answer," she said, reaching over and snatching his sketchbook and holding it out of reach. “You’ll regret it if you don’t tell him.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Janine. "I could say the same thing about you and Molly,” he retorted icily.

“I know I don’t stand a chance with her. I’m moving on,” Janine replied with a shrug. “But you? You still have a chance if you would just tell John how you feel!”

Sherlock scowled and managed to grab his sketchbook out of Janine’s hands, flipping to a clean sheet of paper. “Yeah, well, I’m not going to tell him,” he muttered.

“Tell who what?” John asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee.

Janine just grinned toothily at John, remaining silent, while Sherlock rolled his eyes and stared at his sketchbook. John frowned and glanced between the two of them before shaking his head.

“O-okay. Did you have any plans today?” he asked, changing the subject. He walked over and sat down at the table across from Sherlock. “I have the day off and thought we could hang out.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in surprise when Janine climbed onto his lap and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Well, the only plans Sherl and I had were to go watch Molly and Greg’s show together.” she said with a wide grin.

Sherlock stared at Janine as if she had finally lost her mind when he glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw John gripping his coffee mug tightly, his shoulders tensed. He considered telling Janine to knock it off when John spoke up.

“I wouldn’t mind going with you to that,” he said, looking over at Janine with a fake smile. “That is, unless you and Sherl want to be alone.”

Janine’s smile only grew wider as she stood up. “We’d love if you’d come with us,” she replied smoothly before she leaned over and kissed Sherlock’s cheek. “I’m going to go see if Molly needs any help with her make up.”

And with that, she walked out of the kitchen, leaving Sherlock and John alone in the kitchen. Sherlock uneasily cleared his throat before he picked up his pencil and began sketching the bowl of fruit once more. After a minute or two, he could feel John’s eyes on him so he set his pencil back down.

“What?” he asked, sitting back in his seat and staring back at John. “Why are you staring at me?”

John’s cheeks colored slightly as he looked down at his coffee mug. “Nothing. Sorry. It’s just… You and Janine?”

“What about me and Janine?” Sherlock inquired, watching John with a steady gaze. He could tell John was wanting to say something important and mentally willed him on. Whatever hope he had felt, burst when John shook his head and smiled sadly at Sherlock.

“It’s nothing. I’m just going to go take a shower,” he said as he stood up from the table and walked out of the kitchen. Sherlock stared at the empty chair where John had been sitting.

“It’s only a trick. It’s not her, I want. It’s you,” he whispered, running his hands through his hair before dropping his head on the table.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A few hours later, Janine and Molly walked out of Molly’s bedroom, talking and laughing when they noticed Sherlock curled up on the sofa with a throw pillow over his face.

“Sherlock? Are you alright?” Molly asked as she sat down on the edge of the sofa and lifted the pillow off of Sherlock’s head. “Why are you hiding?”

“Our little Sherlock is in love,” Janine sing-songed, taking a seat in the armchair across the room. Molly’s eyes widened in surprise while Sherlock turned his head and glared at Janine.

“Don’t you have someone else to annoy?” he snapped, snatching the pillow out of Molly’s hands and putting it back over his face. Janine just laughed and jumped up from her seat, grabbing the pillow and throwing it across the room.

Molly chuckled softly to herself as she watched Sherlock and Janine have a stare down with one another. It ended when the front door opened and Greg poked his head inside.

"Hey, Molls. I have a cab waiting for us downstairs."

"Okay. I'll be down in a minute. Just have to grab my purse." she replied, glancing down at her watch before she stood up from the couch and began to gather her things. “See you guys in a little bit,” she called before walking out of the apartment.

They sat in silence for a while before Janine finally stood up and walked over to the couch. “Get up, Sherl! We’re going to be late for the concert!” she said, nudging Sherlock with her foot.

“I’m not going,” Sherlock muttered before rolling over onto his side and burying his face in the couch cushion. Janine narrowed her eyes at Sherlock before bending down and tickling Sherlock’s sides.

Sherlock yelped and practically leapt from the couch to escape Janine’s hands. “Fine! I'll go! Just stop tickling me!” he spluttered, walking backwards towards the bedrooms. Janine grinned smugly when Sherlock accidentally collided with John who was walking into the living room.

“Whoa, easy there. Are you alright?” John asked with concern, placing his hands on Sherlock’s hips to keep him steady. The warmth of John’s hands seeped through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, making Sherlock's cheeks flush slightly.

“I-I’m fine. I just...I need to go change,” Sherlock babbled before running out of the room and into their bedroom. He leaned against the closed door, taking several deep breaths as he tried to slow his racing heart, wondering how he was going to make it through this evening with his sanity in tact. He mentally steeled himself before quickly changing his clothes.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Twenty minutes and one very tense cab ride later, the three of them finally walked into The Blue Carbuncle and began searching the crowded bar for an empty table.

"Hey Janine! Over here!" A tall, dark haired woman exclaimed, waving from a large table near the stage.

“Sally!” Janine called out as she wove through the throng of people. Sherlock and John followed her over to the table where Sally was seated and sat down

“How the hell have you been? Where’s Phil?” Janine asked as she hugged Sally and sat down next to her. Sally motioned towards the bar where several people were standing, waiting to place drink orders.

“He went to go get us some beers,” she said before running a hand through her hair. “I’ve been wigging out the last few weeks. Mark, you remember Mark, right? He’s the guy who did all of the art for the covers of our magazine. Anyway, he quit so he could follow some band across the country. Phil and I have been trying to look for his replacement but we haven’t find an artist as good as him.”

Janine grinned as she wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders. “Well, look no further! I have an amazing artist that you should hire on the spot!”

Sally looked over at Sherlock. “Him? He’s an artist?”

“The very best!” Janine declared, matter of factly.

“She exaggerates,” Sherlock replied, reaching up and gently nudging Janine’s hand off of his shoulder. “I’m not that great.”

“Yes, you are.”

Everyone looked over at John who was running his fingers over a heart that had been carved into the tabletop. “Sherlock is an amazing artist. You won’t find anyone better.”

Sally looked Sherlock up and down before she shrugged. “Alright. Why don’t you come by sometime tomorrow and bring some drawings of yours for us to look at.”

Sherlock felt his cheeks flush at the praise John had given him. He stealthily snuck a glance in John’s direction and felt something in his stomach flutter at the look John was giving him. He opened his mouth to reply when he saw a familiar figure headed their way. His smile fell when Sarah sat down in the chair beside John.

“I thought I saw you over here! I just had to come over and say hi,” she said with a coy smile as Molly’s voice sounded from a microphone onstage.

"Thank you all for coming out to see us tonight! We are The Dancing Men!" she announced before the band started playing a fast-paced rock number.

Sherlock sat back in his seat and let his mind wander as Molly sang about being sad and alone until her lover came back into her life. As he listened to the lyrics, he found that he related to the person in the song: he had been so alone until the day he met John and everything changed. He shook his head and pushed the thought away. John would never be his and he just needed to get used to that fact.

“Hey.”

Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts and looked up to see John smiling at him from across the table. “Did you want to go take a walk? Get some fresh air?” John asked, motioning towards the door.

“Uh, I guess so,” he replied, grabbing his coat and following John out of the crowded bar. Once they were outside, Sherlock glanced over at John from the corner of his eye. “Won’t your girlfriend be mad that you left her in there?” he asked, trying to keep the jealousy out of his voice.

John chuckled softly and shook his head. “She’s, uh, she’s not my girlfriend,” he said as they started walking down the sidewalk together. “What about you?” John asked, nudging Sherlock with his hip as they walked. “You sure Janine won’t be looking for you?”

Sherlock snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, John. I’m not her type.”

John looked over at Sherlock, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Oh? And just what is her type?” he inquired.

“Our lovely landlady,” Sherlock answered as he stopped at the corner and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He glanced over and saw the wide eyed expression on John’s face. “What? It’s completely obvious!”

“Not to me. I guess I’ve had other things on my mind lately,” John admitted, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they crossed the street. “You really aren’t dating Janine?”

Sherlock lit his cigarette and took a deep drag off of it, the smoke curling around his head like a wispy halo. “I can assure you, John, Janine and I are just friends,” he said as they continued to walk. “She and I have something in common and we tend to commiserate over it often.”

"And what do you two have in common?" John asked quietly. Sherlock took a deep breath before coming to a sudden stop in front of a darkened building, nearly causing John to collide with him. He spun around and looked at John with soft eyes, his heart beating wildly in his chest as his confession fell from his lips.

"We're both in love with people who will never love us back."

John stared at Sherlock in stunned silence. A siren cut through the night air several miles away but neither one of them heard it. John swallowed hard before he took a hesitant step forward and stood directly in front of Sherlock. “Who are you in love with?” he asked quietly, nervously licking his lips. Sherlock’s eyes followed the movement of John’s tongue before flicking them up and meeting his intense gaze.

Before he could stop himself, Sherlock closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to John’s. The kiss lasted only a couple of seconds before he pulled away, keeping his eyes closed as he mentally steeled himself for John’s reaction.

“You’re an idiot.” Sherlock’s eyes flew open and he saw John standing in front of him with an amused expression on his face as he continued speaking. “Is this why you’ve been spending so much time with Janine? To make me jealous?”

Sherlock’s cheeks grew hot as he opened and closed his mouth several times. He then cleared his throat and looked down at the ground. “M-Maybe,” he said quietly, scuffing his tennis shoe across a crack in the sidewalk. He looked up when he felt John’s cold hands slide around the back of his neck and unconsciously licked his lips as John moved closer.

“Well, it worked,” John whispered before he wove his fingers into Sherlock’s curls and leaned in to kiss him once more. Sherlock felt himself melting into John’s embrace, letting out a soft sigh when he felt John’s tongue slide against the seam of his lips.

Before he could react, they heard loud laughter coming from around the corner. John pulled away and took a step back, his cheeks were slightly flushed as he smiled up at Sherlock. “Come on. Let’s head home,” he said as he slipped his hand around Sherlock’s arm and started to lead him back the way they came. “We have a lot we need to talk about.”

Sherlock nodded, unable to keep the smile from stretching across his face as he and John walked back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Twitter and Tumblr as GuixonLove87


	6. Don't Let Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a surprising request of John when they have the apartment to themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by enduringchill and chucksauce221

_Nobody ever loved me like he does_  
_Ooh he does, yes he does_  
_And if somebody loved me like she do me_  
_Ooh she do me, yeah she does_

_Don't let me down_  
_Don't let me down_  
_Don't let me down_  
_Don't let me down_

_Oh I'm in love for the first time_  
_Don't you know it's gonna last_  
_It's the love that lasts forever_  
_It's the love that had no past_

 

The night of their first kiss, Sherlock admitted to John that he didn’t have much experience with dating and the things that came with it. He expected John to laugh or give him a look of pure pity, but John smiled when he sat down beside Sherlock on the edge of the bed, and told Sherlock that they could take things as slow as they needed.

‘I’m in this for the long haul,’ John had said as he cupped Sherlock’s cheek in his slightly calloused hand. ‘I don’t care if we never do anything besides kiss. To me, you’re worth it.’

Weeks peeled away in a blur. To Sherlock, nothing and everything changed: he and John interacted as they always did, but in the privacy of their bedroom, they let down their walls. Sometimes they spent hours doing nothing but kissing and touching. Other times, they talked about their pasts and things that made them who they were today.

It was difficult to try and keep things secret when they were around other people but somehow they managed it. Whenever they attended one of Molly and Greg’s gigs, they’d sit in one of the corner booths where it was darker and held hands under the table. Whenever they hung out with others back at the apartment, they would sneak up to the roof for a quick kiss or two.

Sherlock couldn’t be any happier.

Janine, deciding to get out and see the world, had moved out not long after Sherlock and John got together. She promised to keep in touch and made sure to tell Sherlock how happy she was that he and John finally admitted how they felt about one another. Guilt briefly filled Sherlock at that because he knew that the main reason for Janine’s departure had been her unrequited feelings for Molly.

A few weeks later, Molly and Greg had a few gigs in upstate New York - leaving the large apartment to Sherlock and John. As soon as the front door closed behind Molly and Greg, John turned to Sherlock with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“So, what shall we do in this quiet and empty apartment?” John said as he came closer, his movements deliberate, cautious.

Sherlock licked his lips and placed his hand on John’s chest. John’s heart beat wildly; he was just as nervous.

“I actually do have one idea,” he said, looking up into John’s eyes.

The corners of John’s lips quirked up.“And what would that be?”

Sherlock took a deep breath and forced himself to speak before chickened out. “I want to draw you.”

John smiled. “Don’t you do that enough already? You have a whole box full of sketchbooks with just drawings of me.”

“No, you misunderstand me,” Sherlock replied, taking a step closer and sliding his hand down John’s stomach, letting his fingertips slip underneath the hem of John’s t-shirt. “I want to draw you… while you’re not wearing… anything.”

As soon as the words slipped out of his mouth, Sherlock immediately wanted to take them back. John remained immobile in front of him, his mouth slack with shock. Twin patches of pink colored Sherlock’s cheeks as embarrassment set in. He was in the process of figuring out how to backtrack when John snapped out of his stupor.  
  
“Is that what you really want to do?” he asked, taking a step closer, pressing their bodies together. Sherlock closed his eyes when John leaned in and trailed his lips along his cheek. The warmth of John’s breath on his skin made it hard for him to concentrate.

“Um, yes. I mean, no! I mean, it was a stupid idea. We can do something else if you’d-,”

John chuckled softly. He pressed his lips against Sherlock’s briefly before pulling back and smiling up at him.

“You’re adorable when you get flustered,” he said, playfully tugging on a stray curl by Sherlock’s flushed cheek.

Sherlock huffed and tried to glare at John.

“I am many things, John Watson, but adorable is not one of them,” he retorted before turning and throwing himself onto the sofa.

Behind him, John chuckled, his footsteps leading out of the living toward their bedroom.

Sherlock stewed on the couch for several minutes when he heard John saying his name. He rolled over to tell John to forget about what he had asked, but the words caught in his throat. John stood in front of him in his tattered robe, the sash tied loosely around his waist. It hung open just enough to reveal a sliver of tanned skin. John smiled, holding out Sherlock’s sketchbook.

“So, where do you want me?” he asked eagerly.

Sherlock stared at the familiar cover of his latest sketchbook, swallowing hard before he lifted his eyes to meet John’s. “You really want to do this?”

John chuckled, his hands coming down to the tie around his waist and tugging on the end of it playfully. “I wouldn’t have gotten dressed for the occasion if I didn’t want to. Now, where do you want me?”

Sherlock snapped out of his trance and quickly got to his feet. “Um, why don’t you lie down on the couch here? The light should be just right at this time of day.,” He moved to the arm chair across from the sofa and flopped down. As he flipped through his sketchbook to find a blank sheet of paper, he heard the soft sound of fabric hitting the floor and the springs in the sofa creaking as John laid down on it.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, mentally steeling himself. Sherlock opened his eyes and lifted his head. His heart leapt into his throat: John sprawled across the sofa, one leg propped up on the cushions to prevent Sherlock from seeing too much at once. From his spot across the room, Sherlock could see a few faded scars on John’s leg from playing some type of sport; American football if he had to guess. The afternoon sunlight streaming in through the sheer curtains of the living room windows danced across John’s bare skin, bathing him in a heavenly glow.

“You’re beautiful.” The words slipped from Sherlock’s lips before he could stop them.

John met his gaze, sent him a smile that made Sherlock feel warm all over. “So are you.”

Sherlock bit his lip to keep the smile from spreading across his own face as he glanced back down at the sketchbook in his lap and began to sketch. He soon lost himself in the flow of drawing, wanting to get every single detail right.

Sherlock worked in silence, the only sound in the apartment the sound of his pencil scratching across the paper. He found himself lifting his eyes and studying John’s naked form, memorizing it as if this would be the only time he got to see it. _‘You’re being ridiculous,’_ his mind snapped at him. _‘The only one holding back is you.’_

“Have you ever done this before?” John asked, interrupting his internal berating.

Sherlock looked up from his sketchbook, his eyebrow cocked. “Obviously.” he looked back down and erased a stray line.

“Oh.” John nodded once and stared up at the ceiling. He was silent for a few seconds before he spoke again. “So… just guys, or did you draw girls naked too?”

Sherlock lifted his head, a frown creasing his brow. “Wait, what?”

John looked over and met Sherlock’s confused gaze. “Did you draw other people naked before me?”

Sherlock’s cheeks flushed bright pink and he quickly averted his eyes. “No. There’s been no one else. Just you.” He stared at the almost-finished sketch in front of him as if it held all the answers to life’s greatest mysteries.

“Good.” John settled back against the couch and staring up at the ceiling once more.

Sherlock lifted his eyes and noticed a smug grin on John’s face. He bit his lip to keep from smiling and focused on the task at hand. Occasionally, John would shift from his original position so Sherlock would have to direct him back to the way he was. After the first couple of times, he noticed John doing it more and more just so Sherlock would have to get up from his seat and move him back.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Sherlock pointed out after the fifth time he asked John to move back. John batted his eyelashes innocently as he smiled up at Sherlock, letting himself be manhandled by Sherlock back into his original pose.

“Problem?” Sherlock just shook his head and tried to hide his smile as he let his hands linger on John’s body. The warmth of the soft skin underneath his slightly calloused fingers was just one more thing he vowed to commit to memory as he walked back to his seat and picked his sketchbook back up.

Finally, after a couple of hours, Sherlock lifted his head and smiled shyly at John.

“All done.”

John sat up and held out his hand towards Sherlock. “May I see it?”

Sherlock looked down at the floor. “Um, don’t you want to get dressed first?” he asked, trying his best not to stare at the beauty that was John Watson’s nude body.

“Why? It’s not like you haven’t seen it before,” John replied as he swung his legs onto the floor and sat up, grabbing his robe off the floor and pulling it back on. Once he’d tied it securely around his waist, he patiently held out his hand toward Sherlock once more. “Come on, Sherlock. Let me see it. Please?”

“Fine,” Sherlock mumbled before handing the sketchbook over. When John started to reach for it, he yanked it back. “Just… don’t laugh if it looks horrible.”

John rolled his eyes before he snatched the book out his hands and looked at the drawing. Sherlock bounced nervously as he watched John’s face, trying to decipher his reaction to the drawing in front of him. After several long seconds of silence, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Well? Is it terrible?”

John lifted his head and met Sherlock’s eyes, his face an unreadable mask, before he replied.

“It’s horrible! You didn’t get my left nipple right.”

Sherlock blinked several times, at an absolute loss for words. He certainly wasn’t expecting that. “Well, that’s not my fault. I was drawing from a distance and couldn’t see it properly.”

John collapsed into a fit of giggles, holding his sides.“Oh my God! You should have seen your face!”

“You’re a dick.” Sherlock scowled, stalking back over to his chair and flinging himself onto it. He watched warily as John stood up, setting the sketchbook onto the coffee table before he crossed the room.

“I happen to think you like me and my dick,” John declared in a fake English accent that was surprisingly believable. He climbed onto the chair with Sherlock and straddled his legs. “Isn’t that right, love?”

“Not at the moment, no,” Sherlock retorted, shutting his eyes and trying to will the heat in his cheeks to disappear. Unfortunately, his body seemed to have other ideas because it started to react to the close proximity of John, nearly naked and on top of him.

“Look at me.” John’s soft voice came from somewhere close to his face.

Sherlock managed to gather the courage and slowly opened his eyes. His heart stuttered in his chest when he saw how dark John’s eyes were.

“John.” Sherlock’s voice was barely above a whisper.

John kissed him and all thought went out the window. He had tried drugs before, back when he and Janine had hung out and bonded over their unrequited crushes, but John’s mouth, his skin against Sherlock’s was better than any drug he’d done with Janine.. Sherlock wanted to bottle up that feeling and save it.

Sherlock reluctantly broke the kiss and looked up at John with a somewhat dazed expression. “I… I’m ready.”

John blinked in confusion. “Ready for what?”

Sherlock leaned back in and pressed his forehead against John’s. “I want you to make love to me, John Watson.”

 

Silence fell over them. Confused, Sherlock pulled back to find John staring at him, his deep blue eyes studying him closely. “Are you sure? I told you I didn’t mind waiting.”

Sherlock shook his head before he leaned in and pressed his forehead against John’s again. “I’m sure, John. Please. I… I love you,” he whispered.

After what felt like eons, John kissed him. “I love you too,” he murmured before he climbed out of the chair and held his hand out towards Sherlock, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He placed his hand into John’s and followed him back to their bedroom.

It was by no means perfect: their noses bumped, hands fumbled, and they somehow managed to get vaseline all over the sheets as well as themselves, but it was something Sherlock would never forget. All that mattered was John and himself as one.

Afterwards, they laid curled up in one another’s arms, sweat cooling on their bodies. Sherlock closed his eyes and saved this memory in the room of his mind palace dedicated to John: from the way John had moaned his name, to the way he had looked when he came.

John pulled him from his thoughts by pressing a soft kiss onto his eyelids. He opened his eyes and met John’s warm gaze.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” John whispered, the corners of his lips curled.

Sherlock shook his head and rolled over to face John.“Nothing to apologize for. I was just wanting to remember everything,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly.

John’s smile widened. “Yeah?” When Sherlock nodded, John scooted closer and kissed him softly, running his hands through Sherlock’s messy curls. “How about I give you some more to remember?”

Sherlock grinned.They spent the rest of the night tangled in each other’s arms.

The next morning, Sherlock and John were awoken by the sound of banging on the front door. John’s arms tightened around Sherlock before he buried his face into the crook of Sherlock’s neck.

“Maybe if we ignore them, they’ll go away,” he mumbled sleepily. Sherlock had every intention of abiding by John’s request but the knocking grew more insistent. With a muttered curse, he extricated himself from John and pulled on the first items of clothing he could find on top of their laundry basket before making his way into the living room.

He yanked open the door, fully intent on giving the person on the other side a severe tongue lashing, and froze. John’s mother stood in the hallway outside their door, her eyes red and face flushed. She cleared her throat and smiled sadly at Sherlock.

“Is my son home? This was the address he gave me,” she said, glancing around Sherlock into the apartment. Before he could respond, he heard the familiar shuffling of footsteps behind him.

“Mum, what are you doing here?” John asked as he walked to the door, dressed haphazardly in sweats and a t-shirt with The Dancing Men’s logo on the front.

His mother pushed past Sherlock and wrapped her arms around John, sobbing and hugging him so tightly that Sherlock was sure that he heard something popping.

Sensing that his presence wasn’t needed at that moment, Sherlock stepped into his shoes and gave John a benign smile as he pulled his coat on. He he grabbed his keys and wallet, and walked out of the apartment before John could protest.

“I’m going for a walk,” he called over his shoulder.

As he stepped outside the apartment building, Sherlock took a deep breath of the brisk morning air. The combined scent of exhaust on the streets, pot coming from one of their neighbor’s open windows, and grease from the Chinese restaurant a few doors down filled his nostrils. It should have been somewhat revolting but after living in this city for a few months, it was the smell of home.

Sherlock pulled a cigarette and lighter out of his coat pocket and lit it before turning left and heading toward their favorite diner. He figured the least he could do while he was out was to get them some coffee and breakfast.

_What could cause John’s mother to drive from their home in New Jersey to their apartment in New York without letting John know beforehand? Sherlock wondered while he smoked and walked. Judging from her appearance, it must be upsetting news. Did something happen to Harry? John hadn’t mentioned his sister having any problems since the last time he went down to visit her._

He shook the thoughts from his head and stepped inside the diner to put in their to-go order.

About fifteen minutes later, Sherlock arrived back home. Their apartment was silent and John’s mother was nowhere to be found.  
He set the bag of food and large cup of coffee down on the kitchen table before making his way down the hall to their bedroom. John lay curled up in the unmade bed. His stomach twisted into knots as he hesitantly made his way over to the bed.

“John? What is it?”

John reached underneath the pillow, pulling a creased envelope out and holding it up wordlessly. Sherlock studied him closely for a couple of seconds. His eyes were rimmed with red and stood out against his pallid complexion. His lips were a tight line across his face and from a distance, Sherlock could see how tense he was. He hesitantly took the envelope from John and read the name on the return address. His blood turned to ice in his veins. The letter was from the United States Military.

“Mum said the letter came last month,” came the muffled response. “Apparently the draft goes after men not enrolled in college.”

Sherlock dropped down on the edge of the bed and stared at the envelope numbly, his mind racing. Thoughts of what had happened during Christmas sprung to the forefront of his mind, unbidden.

“I don’t regret dropping out of school,” John continued, as if he had just read Sherlock’s mind. “Harry is getting the help she needs and that is more important than a college degree, regardless of what my parents think.” He let out a wounded noise, his pain too overwhelming for a sob. The pitch of his voice rose with every word, shrill and desperate. “I have to leave you. Right when I thought everything was okay, this is happening.”

He silently laid down and wrapped his arms around John’s waist, his lips brushing the back of John’s neck. “John, I-.”  
“Just lie and tell me that everything is going to be alright,” John whispered, his voice tense as if he were holding back tears.

Sherlock froze, his heart aching at the thought of John dying far away from home, with him helpless to do anything. He hated feeling like this and wanted nothing more than to numb that pain.

“Everything is going to be fine,” he repeated, the words tasting bitter and doing nothing to relieve the ache in his chest.  
His entire life, he had been treated like an outcast, a freak. Things were different with John.  
John saw Sherlock for who he really was and accepted him for it, no questions asked. And now, all of that was being ripped away from him in the form of a summons. He had never been one for protesting, but right now, Sherlock would lay down in front of the largest tank if it meant that John could stay with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Twitter and Tumblr as GuixonLove87

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter and Tumblr as GuixonLove87


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